Eyes of a Criminal
by Merciless Angels Never Cry
Summary: Pre SHFTNW. A look into how Killer became the man he was in 1929.
1. Matt Smith

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Shadow Hearts, Aruze does, so don't sue. I only own the OCs and most of the story.

**Author's Note**: Okay, this is my first story, so don't be too harsh. Though helpful criticisms would be most appreciated, so please review. I've noticed there aren't many stories on Killer, which is a shame really. So, I decided to dedicate my first story to one of my favourite characters in the Shadow Hearts series. If you don't like reading about horror, gore, etc. then don't read. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it.

**Matt Smith**

The year was 1915, when the whole world broke into chaos. It was a miserable, wet, November's day, but the terrible weather did nothing to quench the anticipation that the children in school harboured. Every one of them near the edge of their seats, some having to hold onto their desks in case they fell and made a fool of themselves. Their teacher's robotic voice hadn't even registered inside their brains, too excited to get out of this hellhole and run off home. The normal average school day you'd expect.

Once they were told to have a nice weekend, the children charged at the door. The smaller ones didn't stand a chance at surviving the stampede. One of them, picked himself off the floor and gathered his books. A small, skinny boy by the age of ten. His pale, chalky skin contrasted against his bright, fiery red hair. His large brown eyes, the right one covered by his bangs, narrowed as he looked at the crowd of kids, who were now fighting as to who got out the gates first. He followed after them, but made sure to keep a good distance away between them. His name was Matt Smith.

He was a quiet young boy with no friends. He had always tried to avoid their taunts and their snide comments. He tried to avoid the humiliation that the kids in school used to give him. All he wanted was to be left alone. Unfortunately for Matt, children can be so cruel. He was always picked on because of his skinny frame, he was always tagged the "weakling" in school, not only because of his physical features, but also because he had lost ever fight he has ever been in up to date. He was no match for the stronger and older boys in the school.

Matt gathered up his torn and tattered books, his parents couldn't afford to buy better ones, and headed towards the gates. It was quite a long walk from home, he had to pass several streets to get there. He walked by a few brick houses when the heavens opened. As the rain pelted down, Matt regretted that he didn't bring a coat, his mother would kill him if he came home in wet clothes. He began to sprint, zipping through a few people rushing to get into shelter. He decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway.

His feet made splashes when they hit the puddles. The rain rolled off of his flesh and travelled towards his now drenched clothes. 'Mom's gonna kill me…' he groaned, forcing his short legs to move faster. The sky gave out a roar, too loud for Matt to hear the splashes following behind him.

Someone grabbed his arm, turned him around and shoved him up against a brick wall. Matt looked up at the round face of the person that he feared the most, Tom Larkin, mourning the fact that he was shorter than him. Two other boys appeared behind Tom, though Matt didn't recognise them.

'It's a bit dangerous for a twerp like you to be running along here,' Tom shouted over the rain. Matt tried to get away but Tom grabbed him by the neck, 'Why are you in a hurry?' he sneered, tightening his grip. 'I'm just trying to have some fun'

Matt punched Tom in the stomach and tried to slip away. However the two other boys grabbed his shoulders and pushed him onto the ground. They started to lay into him. Kicking, punching, hitting and spitting at him. He tried to shield himself from the blows but to of no avail. Tom was a big bulky fellow, while the other two inflicted a massive amount of pain, he could deal worse. He started punching Matt's face, chest and stomach. Tom took out a small knife and penetrated Matt's gut, twisting and shoving the blade deeper into him, causing him to scream out in pain.

After what seemed to be agonisingly forever, they got off of him. Tom gave one last kick into the face and crotch, then headed off with the other two, leaving a bruised, bloodied, battered and broken boy- inside and out.

Matt crawled over gingerly to his books. They were torn and the ink was being washed out, he began to dread what his parents would do to him once they found out about the books. He clutched his stomach where the knife was driven into him. He tried to lift himself off of the floor but his arms buckled and his chin banged off of the pavement. He just lay there. He didn't know how long he spent there in the pool of water, mixing in with his blood and his tears. He hated crying. Crying meant sensitivity. Sensitivity meant weakness and the last thing Matt wanted was to be weak. He needed to toughen up and fast.

He grabbed hold of a nearby dumpster and hauled himself up. He limped onto the streets with his books. He took one step forward and his ankle gave way. People either walked past him or walked over him. No one bothered to ask if the poor boy was alright.

Matt gave up hoping for someone to care a long time ago.


	2. Bastard

**Disclaimer:** As usual, I do not own Shadow Hearts. If I did, Yuri and Killer would find themselves tied up in a room somewhere…in my basement…if I had one…

**Bastard**

Matt struggled to get home, he practically had to drag himself with the help of a few brick walls. People looked at him in disgust, thinking he was just some brat who got himself into a scrap and probably deserved what he got. What the fuck would they know? It's not like he was a thug. Sure he stole a few bits of food from the small shop down the corner by the road, when the old man behind the counter wasn't looking. But he only did that because he was on the verge of starving. His parents couldn't be bothered to feed their own son, so if they couldn't do they're job, he might as well look after himself.

The door to his house creaked open, and he walked into the kitchen where he found his mother. She was sitting down at the table, holding her forehead in one hand and smoking a cigarette in the other. It was six o' clock in the evening and she was still in her night gown. There were bottles of wine littered on the table. It was ironic, they didn't have enough money to buy food, however they had enough to buy bottles upon bottles of alcohol and packets of cigarettes.

She was kinda pretty to look at, if she took care of herself daily. She was a petite woman with dirty blonde hair styled into a messy bob. She had blue eyes that always seemed to glaze over. She was in her mid thirties, a mother of only one child and, unfortunately for Matt at the time, unmarried.

Years ago, she used to flirt with the local men at the bars around here, coining her the name "town bike". The local housewives would complain about their husbands coming home late because of that "tart". Rebecca Smith did take a keen interest in a few of the many men who wanted to have a ride off of her. Adam Connor was one of them. They eventually slept together and, lo and behold, nine months later, Matt came into the cruel harsh world that he was about to endure. Rebecca practically left her small baby boy to starve, if it wasn't the old lady who was one of the few who had sympathy for her, Matt wouldn't be standing here in this kitchen. That said, once he was able to walk, the old hag just discarded him to his parents, who were the ones to do so in the first place.

He was treated worse than his mother, the parents of the other children made sure of that. He was a bastard after all, whose existence wasn't even meant to be. That was another big nasty thorn that he had to live with every day of his miserable life.

When his mother eventually noticed he was there, her eyes widened, got up strolled over and with an outstretched hand slapped him across his face. He stumbled and fell on the floor, his messed up books scrambled on the wooden floor.

"What the fuck is this, huh?" she shrieked, picking up a soggy and torn book, waving it into Matt's face. "Do you know how much this cost?"

Matt could only nod, he didn't want to anger her any more. She made no mention of his bloodied and bruised face. "And the hell happened to your clothes?" her voice slurring a small bit. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him up. She slapped him again, "Your fucked if you think I'm gonna be cleaning up after you again!"

Matt nodded again, focusing his eyes on the cracks of the floorboards. "Just you wait you fucker," Rebecca snarled. "Wait until your father comes home and I'll make sure he'll sort you out"

Matt looked up and his large brown orbs widened. "Please don't!" he begged, clutching onto her night gown. Bad mistake. She smacked his face again with the back of her hand.

"Get out of my sight you piece of shit!" she spat. As he got up, she relentlessly started to give him more grief. "If it wasn't for me you'd be fucked! I was the one who minded you when you could barely walk."

What, did she lose her memory as well? "B-but you never did," Matt whimpered, his voice hardly audible. He was shocked that his mother heard him. She flung an empty wine bottle at him, he ducked and the glass shattered, falling down onto the floor.

"Don't you give me cheek, you ungrateful bastard!" she screeched, her last word stinging her son as if he got another beating from her.

"I could've let you die! But no! What if I just dumped you into the nearest garbage pile where you belong, huh? What would that make me, huh? I'll tell you what, that'd make me a fucking murderer!" She sat back down on her chair and began to sob. "You ruined my life!" she wailed. "I could've been something, y'know? I was always good at acting, on my way to Hollywood. I could've been _someone_! But you! You destroyed everything belonged to me. My dreams, my future, my beauty, my youth, EVERYTHING!"

Matt just stood there, speechless. He always had trouble in thinking of ways to calm her down, all he could muster was a pathetic "sorry". Love was a taboo subject in this house. He knew this fact all too well. He remembered when he was about four, he was feeling extremely lonely one day and went up to his mother for a hug. Not one of those new toy cars or toy soldiers, just a simple hug that would have so much meaning and impact. Instead, all he got was a welt from his mother's slap and her cigarette forced into his forearm. The physical scar had faded, but the emotional and mental scars never did.

He climbed up the stairs and went into his parent's bedroom. He opened his mother's drawer and pulled out a sewing kit. He limped over to his room and closed the door behind him. His room was cold and damp, the grubby looking wallpaper was peeling off and the only objects there was a bed, springs sticking out of the thin mattress. A table with a few books stood at one side of the room, a cracked mirror hanging over it. There was a tin bucket in one corner of the room, in case he needed to urinate in the middle of the night.

He made his way over to the mirror and placed the sewing kit onto one of the books. He lifted up his shirt, hissing as the gash stretched and threw away his damp shirt onto the floor. He got another bucket full of water, dipped some cloth into it and started to clean the dried blood around the gash. He yelped at the pain of the cold water hitting his red puffy torn flesh, but kept wiping it.

Once he was finished, he dropped the bloodied cloth into the red tinted water. He got a needle and thread and started to sew his skin back together. He grimaced as the needle entered and exited him, pushing, pulling and tugging his broke flesh. When he was done, he looked at it in the mirror. It wasn't exactly the neatest stitch ever made, but it did the job. He put a bandage on it, making sure there was a small bit of pressure on the wound. He glanced at his face in the mirror, other reflections of him facing back at him. He stared at his face for some time, tears starting to well up and explode like a volcano. The inside of his chest felt like that on a number of occasions. He felt like going into a blind rage so many times, but he tried restraining himself, he kicked or punched the wall, a few months ago, he punched his mirror. But, sometimes, he felt that he should give all those who ridiculed him what they deserved.

"Where is he?" Matt shuddered as he recognised the harsh gruffness of that man's voice. His father.

He quickly changed into a dry, clean pair of clothes. And ran down the stairs, dreading what was about to happen. Matt got his looks from his father, Adam. They a had the same dark red hair, deep brown eyes and chalky complexion. The difference was, Adam had a long scar running down the side of his face from a fight he got into years ago.

Adam didn't say a word, he just punched his young boy in the face. Matt's head spun and throbbed, threatening to let his brain burst out from his skull. Adam undid his belt and slipped it out of the hooks from his pants and started to beat him with it.

After about fifteen minutes or so, Adam eventually got exhausted and stopped. Matt started to cry. "Stop crying like a fucking woman!" Adam roared, Rebecca just leaning by the sink letting out a huge cloud of smoke from her lungs, watching with a cool gaze as to what was going on. Adam headed for the living room, "Dumb bastard…"


	3. Change

**Author's Note: **Okay this is where things get a little more interesting, I promise! Reviews would be most appreciated! I promise I'll improve my writing as I go on. Also, an important notice for all, if you've been affected by any of the issues shown in previous or future chapters, get help! The organisations differ from country to country so I won't give any numbers, just get help, don't let it go too far. Thank you.

**Change **

It was February 1922; almost the middle of the school year and Matt was acting strange, well, more peculiar than a seventeen year old teenager should be acting. He rarely came home, not that those assholes noticed. He had been getting into more fights lately and he was the one who picked them. Last week, he beat up some poor misfortunate boy who was cocky enough to smirk at him. Needless to say that particular boy kept his distance from him.

Most of the other teenagers avoided him, both boys and girls. Said he was trouble, they didn't want anything to do with him. Matt gained the fear of many for his juvenile behaviour, all but one. Tom Larkin. Matt found it as some sort of punishment, for what he still struggled to find, that they were going to the same high school. Though he made sure to keep the fact quiet, but he still feared that that tub of lard.

School had just ended and Matt was on his way home, he was sure he saw some food somewhere in that shithole that didn't even deserved to be justified as a house. He groaned as he saw the large figure standing by the wire mesh fence.

Tom sneered and started to size him up. "How's your tart of a mom after last night?" he sniggered. "Let me tell you something pal, she definitely was a nice little ride, shame she's too old. That said I might me into the mature type ya know?"

Matt clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, trying to control himself. He couldn't take it anymore. He gave into his primal rage and knocked Tom out with one blow to the head.

When he woke up, he was tied to a chair in the middle of a room, one he didn't recognise. Matt stood in front of him, arms folded and had a sick twisted look on his face. "What the fuck is this?" Tom shouted. Matt got a clamp, forced Tom's mouth to open, attached it to his tongue, pulled it out, got a pair of scissors and cut it off. Blood spewed out of Tom's mouth as he screamed out loud. Matt grinned, "Just so you won't get any bright ideas."

He stood back as he watched the red fluid poured down on Tom's shirt. What was he going to do now? He started to circle his new victim, whipping out a pocket knife, admiring it's gleam while it started to tantalize him, thinking of new sick ways to cause this mother fucker a lifetime's worth of pain. He cut up Tom's shirt to reveal the mountain of flesh that was about to be ruined. He pointed the tip of the blade at the top of the stomach, drove it in and started to saw the thick flesh down at first and with a cruel twist slashed him upwards, causing a kind of a rough U shaped gash that started to let out blood. He decided to finish the circle, dug both his hands into the top of the wound and with formidable force tore that large chunk of fat off his body.

A shrill scream escaped from Tom's mouth as Matt discarded the ripped flesh to the ground. He gripped his knife and sliced both of his cheeks open, letting his jaw hang far below where it shouldn't go. Tom's eyes bulged as he let out a guttural roar; he was helpless, left vulnerable to this psycho. He began to cry and hyperventilate, his chest rising up and down at a drastic rate. The pain was unbearable, he couldn't take it anymore.

Matt just smiled at his creation; he stood beside him, leaning over so that his mouth was near his ear. "Who's the wimp now?" he teased, a twisted curl of the mouth appearing on his face as his eyes glimmered in sick joy. "You can dish it out but you can't take it in, huh?"

Tom tried to plead, but all he could do was grunt, his capability to speak was taken away from him. That fucker was turning him into a grotesque freak. Matt stabbed him four times in the sides. "This is what you get for fucking with me!" he snarled.

Tom howled like an animal caught in a trap, its grip tightening all the time as it struggled some more. As Matt stared at him, he was still dissatisfied; there was something missing. He enjoyed torturing the motherfucker, but it wasn't enough, there was still no thrill. Besides, if he just let him go, he'd get caught and the cops would come to put him in jail to rot. He needed to get rid of him. He pressed the blade against the fat bastard's throat and with one swift movement, slit it open. Blood splattered on his face as blood spurted out from the new wide mouth that he had made. The body twitched frantically but soon calmed down and became limp.

Matt started to laugh, it was fun but he needed more. He needed a fight. After calming down, he began to panic. Where was he going to dump the body? After a few minutes of cursing and desperately going through his brain, he thought of it.

He cut the ropes binding the body and got a large bag. He struggled to get the corpse into the bag, the weight was unbelievable, and it still needed a while before it becomes dead weight, but still. He grinned as he dragged the body, he liked what he had just did but he was going to do things differently next. And there will be a next time, he was going to make sure of it.


	4. Suspect

**Author's Note: **As usual, reviews would be appreciated. Hope ye enjoy! Sorry if it's a little short! The next chapter will be longer.

**Suspect**

Sirens wailed into the night. Police wagons gathered near a lake, cops struggling to keep the hoard of reporters away from the scene. Some passer-by saw a dead body rise up from the lake and instantly got the police involved. Another police wagon pulled up, a man stepping out of the vehicle. Detective Benson looked around wearily at the crowd, knowing what was about to happen. Once one of them caught site of him, the others followed. Scum wanting to make some sensational story. He shook his head, he didn't have the time nor the patience to put up with theses people. He pushed them out of his way and proceeded towards the crime scene, thankful that they were stopped by the officers guarding the area.

He was a tall and slender man with greying hair. Lines creased his face and heavy bags hung under his eyes. He'd been doing this job for well over twenty years, but he was a little surprised to see the savage wounds on the victim's body. As he stepped forward and got a better look at the severity of them, he grimaced as another officer stepped up beside him. The corpse was deathly white and his flesh somewhat soggy-looking. The cruel large wound was difficult to look it, it revealed too much for anyone to look at. One cop was actually leaning against a tree, shaking uncontrollably, throwing up whatever he had for lunch. He was almost as pale as the corpse.

Detective Benson examined the body further. The large opening in the stomach wasn't the only disturbing appearance on the victim. The cheeks were cut from both corners of the mouth upwards, letting the jaw hang, almost freakishly, from the rest of the head. The tongue was also cut off. There were also several stab wounds from the sides and, well, everywhere.

'What do you think of it?' the officer beside him asked, almost squeaking.

Benson shook his head. 'Looks like whoever did this, was new at it,' he remarked coldly. The officer frowned at him, he sighed. 'Look at the wounds.' He pointed at the multiple stab wounds, the officer nodded. 'They're almost random, like he had no clue what to do. As for the stomach and mouth wounds, he could just be experimenting, trying to see what he likes. That or he's trying to play out some sick fantasy where he's in control.'

The officer stared at him dumbfounded, Benson just shrugged. 'It's just an educated guess. When you've been at this for as long as I have, you tend to think of the possibilities.'

'But,' the young officer stammered. 'We still don't know the cause of death. He still has to be taken to the morgue, plus we also have the job of identifying the body!'

Benson rolled his eyes. 'It's kind of obvious what killed him!' he scoffed, pointing at the victim's slit throat. 'We'll get him to the morgue anyway and identify him, poor kid…'

The detective looked around, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes fell on the pale red-haired teenager, who was staring over at the mutilated corpse, his eyes bearing an odd gleam. Benson walked over and tapped the boy on the shoulder, his wide brown eyes staring into his own stern ice-blue eyes.

'C'mon kid,' he said turning him around and forcing him out of the crime scene.

The boy turned around to face him, a confused yet somewhat relieved expression on his face. 'Do you know who that is?' Benson inquired. The boy simply shook his head, his bangs swishing back and forth. Benson frowned and walked off, he didn't think he was going to get anything off of the kid. But there was something strange about him, he couldn't quite put a finger on it but something was odd about the boy.

Matt grinned shakily, his heart still pounding rapidly in his chest. He got away with it, for now. It was stupid, but he wanted to check it out. He wanted to see that fucker's face one last time. He chuckled darkly, walking away. His thoughts rallied to that detective guy. He didn't look dumb, he knew something was off. Oh well, you got lucky this time Matt, he thought to himself. Gotta be more careful next time…


	5. Snapped

**Author's Note: **Aww lads, review! There are a number of people reading this and not giving me feedback. I want to know what ye think of this story, what ye like, what ye don't like about it, that's all. It only takes five minutes tops to write one up, it's not too much to ask. J

I'll be writing a LadyxKiller fanfic soon, for those of you who are interested. Just thought I might let ye know.

All right! Things are going to get a little more disturbing from here on out, just to warn you guys. Not that ye needed warning at this point anyway! J Enjoy! xx

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><p><strong>Snapped<strong>

That's it! Enough is enough! He was going away from that shit hole once and for all.

What had stopped him before?

He had nowhere else to go, end of. No one would take him in. Now that he's older, he could get a job. Hell, if anyone got in his way, he could just do what he did to the past few punks who rubbed him the wrong way.

He opened the door to his house and saw his parents fighting. They were shouting and spitting insults at each other, but Matt didn't take much notice. He placed one foot on the first step of the stairs when his father snapped at him. 'Where the fuck do you think you're going.'

Matt shrugged, 'Upstairs.'

Adam stormed over to him, catching him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him down. Matt attempted to get away but his father punched him in the face. Rebecca sneered, 'That the best you can do?'

Adam slapped her across the face. 'Whore,' he snarled. She fell to the ground when he hit her, nursing her sore cheek as blood started to dribble down from her nose and onto her white dress. She started to complain and as a reward his slapped her again this time harder. She cried out, curling up into a ball and trying to shield herself from the blows. Matt decided to leave, placing his hand on the door and letting it creak open. However, once Adam heard the door open, he lost it. He stopped attacking Rebecca and grabbed a fistful of his son's red hair, pushing him over towards the kitchen sink. He hovered Matt's head over the metal tap and slammed it down repeatedly. Matt screamed as blood started to pour down from his face, his brain pushing against his skull.

Adam gave one last push and left him there. Matt gripped onto the sink so tight that his knuckles turned white. He tried to steady himself. His vision was blurry but he could still make out the red drops staining the immaculate white porcelain sink. He watched as the drops formed and created a small stream, leading it's way down and into the drain, never to be seen again. He raised a shaky hand to his forehead, his face twisting again in pain as he hissed once he touched the gash.

Adam was cursing behind him, but Matt couldn't make out any word he said. Instead, he stared at the large chef's knife stuck into a bit of meat on the counter near him. His gaze fell on the shiny blade, his reflection staring back at him. Blood wrapped around his pale face, embracing it. He could taste the iron from the corner of his mouth, a bitter taste. Bitter like what his soul had become. Bitter like life itself.

Adam glared down at Rebecca, he didn't have enough time to react when Matt lunged at him. They fell on the floor, Adam screaming as Matt plunged the knife deeper into his back. Rebecca screamed, trying to get up but she tripped, scurrying to the corner of the room, watching as Adam tried to endure the onslaught that their son was giving to him.

Adrenaline surged through Matt's body like a giant tsunami ready to destroy all in it's wake. Stabbed, sliced and tore the flesh of his father's back. Adam begged Rebecca to stop him, but she was immobilized, speechless. She covered her mouth as Matt turned Adam over on his back, pressing the chef's knife against his throat and slicing it open. He rolled off of him and stood up, watching as Adam clutched his throat, his eyes bulging out and Matt could see the life drain out of them. His mouth curled up into a sinister smile. He slowly turned his head around to his mother, tears flowing down her cheeks as she sobbed. He came over to her, the knife still in his hands and came up close to her. She shook her head constantly, trying to plead to him and shove him away. No use. He grabbed her throat and held her against the wall. He lifted the knife up and pressed it against her cheek. She cried as he slowly drew the sharp blade across her cheek, red liquid pouring slowly out of the cut. He did the same to the other cheek and to a few other places on her face. Her face dripped of blood in a matter of seconds. Matt leaned in and growled, 'You always say that I ruined your life. You had a life, you were the one who ruined mine from the start. Now I'll make sure that I fucked up your life permanently.' With that, he stabbed he bellow her stomach.

He could hear sirens in the distant. He decided not to bother Rebecca any more and ran out the door, never to be heard of again.

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><p>When the police found her, they sent her to a hospital so that her wounds would be treated. They tried investigating Adam's body but found nothing, burying him a few weeks later. They tried asking Rebecca questions as to who had attacked them but she lost it. The courts eventually classed her as mentally insane and sent her to an asylum.<p>

There they tried shock therapy, starvation and beating to try and get her back to reality. Some of the wardens even had their way with her. But no one said anything to these sick atrocities committed to her.

When she was alone in bed, she kept having nightmares. They were of a small boy with red hair with wide brown eyes and a wide smile on his face as he brought home a cute little furry puppy. The sweet little boy went up to his father holding the little ball of fur, hope gleaming in his eyes. His father took the puppy from him and went out to the back. The red haired boy followed him, still smiling, but that quickly faded once he saw his father catch the puppy by the neck and twisted it, making a cruel snapping sound and making the poor puppy's body go limp. He tossed it into the bin as if it were another piece of rubbish. He started to beat the small boy and was giving out to him for crying. Rebecca would wake up screaming, tears running down her scarred face.

But it wasn't just a nightmare, it actually happened.

What had she done? What did she give birth to? A monster? A killer?

Rebecca Smith committed suicide six months after she was put into the asylum by hanging.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Sorry if that was a bit too graphic! :S


	6. Killer

**Author's Note: **Yay another chapter! Ye wouldn't believe how much trouble I got when writing this story lol. I was writing the last chapter during Irish and, unfortunately, I got caught! _ Well to be fair, it was a bloody aural test and a boring one at that. Not my fault if my Irish teacher can't do her job…well, I suppose that I shouldn't have been writing…meh lol. Well anyways, on with the story!XD

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><p><strong>Killer<strong>

There was a frigid breeze in the middle of the night in 1928. Twigs snapped underneath the feet of a woman running. She cursed once she heard the harsh sound and hid behind a tree. She was hyperventilating and her legs ached from the strain of running. Her bob was in a mess, her red silk dress in tatters and her tights were torn. The chill of the night sent her teeth chattering. Her stomach churned and clenched as she gasped for air. The rough bark scratched her bare back as she pressed up against it. She was covered in blood.

Gillian tried to keep her sobs under control. She didn't care if her dress was in pieces. She didn't care if her hair was in a mess after an hour of styling it. She didn't care if her bare feet were cut and covered in dirt. She didn't even care that her makeup was running off her face.

There was one thing she cared about; survival.

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><p><strong>Twenty minutes earlier…<strong>

Gillian and her lover, Robert, decided to get away from the party that they were going to and went out to the woods for some "alone time", Robert's idea. 'You know I hate the dirt!' Gillian whined as she pulled out her heel from the ground.

Robert turned around, pressed her up against the tree and gave her a quick kiss. 'Aw, come on my little buttercup,' Robert murmured, kissing her again. 'You know I hate those friends of yours.'

Gillian pouted, 'Well I couldn't say no!' Robert groaned. _Great,_ she thought. _Now he's going to be mad at me for the rest of the night!_ 'Now shut up and kiss me!' she purred, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in. As the couple locked lips, they were blissfully unaware of their unknown spectator watching them intently from a distance. He reached into his inside coat pocket and gripped three handle-less knives between his ringed fingers, an eerie gleam coming from the moon appearing on the blades. He took one step and a twig snapped, inwardly cursing.

Gillian stopped and looked at the direction of the noise, seeing a shadowed figure quickly hide behind a tree. 'Robert?' she said, her voice showing a hint of fear. 'I think someone is here…' Her lover looked sceptical.

'I'll go look shall I?' he groaned walking over to where Gillian was staring. As he stepped further away, she kept looking around her, arms crossed as she gripped her forearms tightly. Her blues looked over at Robert who had gone behind a few trees, biting her bottom red lip. Robert came back, a look of clear annoyance on his face. 'Nothing's the-'

Gillian screamed as three knives were lodged, accurately, into Robert's throat. He dropped to the floor, coughing up blood, a shaking hand touching the blades. Gillian ran over and knelt before him, crying. He coughed up more blood which landed on her dress, staining it into a darker red. Gillian turned around, staring in horror at the man who had just thrown the knives. A tall, lanky man, definitely over six foot. His skin was an odd ghostly colour. He wore a black leather jacket with a red horizontal line at the chest, two red belts strapped on each arm near the end of the sleeve, the tongue sticking out of all of them. He wore a black shirt with a red piped outline. He wore a pair of red leather pants, the bottoms tucked into a pair of black leather boots, they were slit and hung limp, the tip of the boot was red. The whole persona of the man flared red. Red for rage, lust and bloodshed, the same was reflected in his dark brown orbs. Even his unkempt hair was red, his bangs covering his right eye.

He kneeled beside Gillian, the chain attached to the hooks of his pants making a small clinking noise as it moved. He started caressing her cheek in a mock lover fashion. He had a small bit of stubble on his chin and Gillian shuddered as she felt the cold metal of his rings press against her skin. Robert choked on his own blood as he lay in the dirt.

The strange man pushed her down and ripped a piece of her dress. He started to rub the inside of her thigh as she struggled beneath him. She tried to claw at him but he slapped her across the face. She cried out but kneed him in the groin. He cursed, rubbing his hurt member as Gillian ran away. 'Get back here you little bitch!' he roared, picking himself up and telling Robert that he'll be back before running off. Not that he had a chance of surviving that wound.

Gillian ran for her life. She discarded her shoes when she tripped a few times. Her tights tore at her knees but she carried on, feeling the skin on her feet tore from the sharp stones and twigs. She hid behind a tree, blood trickling down from her nose from when that sicko hit her. She sobbed but tried to quiet down; she didn't want to get caught. She closed her eyes, wishing that this was just a bad dream and she would wake up anytime soon.

A strong bony, ringed hand grabbed her neck, choking her. He pressed up against her, lifted her legs up, ripped her knickers off and penetrated her. She cried as he had his fun with her. She felt dirty and cheap, like he took something from her; her dignity. He sunk his teeth into her shoulder, drawing blood. She screamed but he shut her up by clamping his chapped lips on hers, forcing her jaw open and started examining her mouth, yet again playing the mocking lover. She tasted the bitter irony taste of her own blood.

He quickly stopped, grabbing a knife and stabbing her. Eventually he sliced her throat.

As she slumped to the floor, Killer pulled up his pants and zipped it up. 'Not bad,' he complemented in a mocking tone, giving he a sick grin as she slipped into Oblivion. 'Not bad at all…'


	7. Running Out of Time

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! Okay this is more of a filler chapter than anything, so yeah… I thought it might be interesting to read. Thanks My Secret Valentine for reviewing!:) Please review xxxx

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><p><strong>Running Out of Time<strong>

Cops scattered around the area, clicking a button, causing their cameras to flash brightly at the mutilated bodies. Detective Benson looked at the body of a woman. Her hair was messed up and her dress was stained with her own blood. Her tights and underwear were torn away from her, he could see clear evidence of rape.

Her throat was slit like some of the others; that bastard probably got tired of her quickly, he thought. He could also see a bite mark on her shoulder. He snarled, _Not only did he have his way with her, but he bit her as well. Great…_

'Detective Benson…?'

Benson almost jumped; he was too lost in his own thoughts to take much notice of anything else. He turned around and was surprised to see who it was; Elliot Ness.

'Elliot…?' Benson stammered. His shock soon subsided and he frowned. 'What are you doing here? This isn't your case.'

Ness held up his hands, 'Hey, I'm just following orders. The case has been given to me. We no longer need you.'

Benson was livid. 'Off the case? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I've been on this case for years, what right do you have telling me th-'

'Like I said; I'm just following orders,' Ness interrupted, giving the older detective a cool gaze. 'You said you've been on this case for a number of years and yet, your nowhere near catching Killer. The department thought that it might be better to get someone who was more able to take on a case like this.

'Saying I'm old, kid?' Benson snarled. 'I've been doing this job since your mother was still wiping snot from your nose!'

'Hey I'm insulted!' Ness said sarcastically, getting rather impatient. 'Besides, shouldn't you be retiring soon…?'

'And I thought you were still working on getting Capone into jail,' Benson snapped back, his wrinkles becoming more apparent as he seethed in rage.

Ness just simply shrugged, 'That doesn't mean I can't work on others. Anyway, you're too slow. The more you keep working slowly on one thing, the more people are going to die because of him. We're running out of time, we can't afford anymore drawbacks at this stage. Thanks to you, we're still stuck on square-one. It's about time Killer stayed behind in bars in Alcatraz, don't you think…? But at this point; he's facing a death sentence.'

All Benson could do was growl; his pride had just taken a severe blow. Ness left him be, he had other things to work on. The older detective just stared down at the corpse of the woman, Gillian.

He wasn't going to let this go, ever.

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><p><strong>Killer: <strong>'…'

**Me: **'What's up with you?'

**Killer: **'That was as boring as fuck.'

**Me: **'Shaddup'

**Killer: **'I'm not joking.'

**Me: **'Bite me!'

**Killer: **'You've been hanging around with Yuri too much haven't you…?'

**Me: **'Shut up! I own your ass!'

**Killer: **'Actually Aruze does…'

**Me: **'Yeah, but they don't have their name tattooed on your ass!'

**Killer: **'WHAT!' *Takes out knives*

**Me: **'Well remember the night we decided to take a few too many drinks…? Well for fun, Yuri and I thought it would be funny if you got my name tattooed on your arse…apparently…not so funny…'

**Killer: ***Growl*

**Me: **'Anyways please review! And if you do; I'll force Killer here to give you a big hug!'

**Killer: ***Glares and points knives at my throat*

**Me: **'Okay! If you don't; Killer will change into Malice Killer and you know as much as I do how much of a prick he his to defeat in that form!' *Gulp*

**Killer:** 'Much better.'


	8. Stalker

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the long wait! I really am, I've been so busy with other stories. ^^; As always; I hope ye enjoy.

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><p><strong>Stalker<strong>

Sweat dripped off of his forehead as he rolled off of her. The cheap whore put up quite a good fight, he must admit, but there was only so long she could last with limited oxygen going into her lungs. He usually didn'tgo for strangling; it mostly depended on his mood. At first it was just going to be a few swift stabs to the chest, puncturing the lungs and letting them fill up with blood, forcing her to in her own blood after he had his fun with her. But the bitch kept screaming and squirming; the only thing he could do was use his body weight to pin her down and put pressure on her throat with his thumbs, making her airway close up.

Killer didn't bother to put on his pants, instead going into the bathroom and running the water in the bathtub. While he watched the water rise, he contemplated on whether to bother with hiding the body or not. He could just dump her in the near-by alleyway but he was too lazy to have to drag her heavy corpse out of this shitty hotel and have to be careful not to get caught by anyone. He took his shirt off, completely naked, turned off the tap and slid his body into the tub.

He often relished moments like these; it wasn't often he got a chance to clean himself and it wasn't like he enjoyed the stench of his own sweat that was well set into his skin. He didn't always sleep on the streets, if he ever slept at all, whenever he got some whore he'd get a room if he had money at the time and after having some pleasures of the flesh, he'd dump the body, get a bath and enjoy sleeping on a bed.

_Fuck it_, he thought. He better transfer her body from the bed to the bathroom when he was finished.

He'd been in the bath for about half an hour now. Killer stepped out of it and wrapped well-worn towel around his waist. Wiping the condensation from the mirror he took a long hard look at himself. His hair had grown slightly longer and his bangs covered practically half of his face. The thing that he found most unnerving was the stubble, any longer and he would look like Adam. An image he didn't want reminding.

Getting a bar of soap and a shaving brush and wetting them both, he rubbed the brush against the soap before putting it on his chin. When the stubble was covered with soap, he got a cut-throat razor and carefully glided the blade against his skin. The last thing he wanted was to look like that asshole.

After shaving himself and drying himself down, pausing for a split second when he saw the silver scar on his stomach, briefly remembering how he got it. He shook his head, no point dwelling on it. Now was his next problem; the dead whore in the other room.

Grabbing both her ankles he started to pull her off the bed, the bed sheets latching onto her and came with her when she dropped to the ground. While dragging her to the bathroom, he contemplated on whether to make it look like she committed suicide by drowning but that idea was quickly squashed when he noticed the bruising starting to appear around her neck. Killer let out a groan; he decided that he would dump the body now. It was better to do it now while it was dark and lessen the chances of him being seen, the last thing he needed was to have to cops hot on his trail.

Quickly putting on his clothes, he grabbed the prostitute's ankles once again and opened the window, peering down to look at the drop; he could just about see the darkened ground and the dingy dumpster. Slinging her body over the ledge, he pushed her out and grimaced when he heard her clashing into the dumpster. He looked out again and snorted when he saw that he missed.

Rushing his way down the stairs and outside, he went around to the back and strode over to the corpse. Hooking his arms under hers and taking a good bit of strength to hoist her up, he rolled her into the dumpster, after a few tries of course. Panting, he stretched his back, cursing the weight of the whore. As he stared at the brick wall, a flash of light appeared and the sound of film recoiling snapped him back to his senses. As he spun around, he caught a glimpse of someone running off. Drawing out his knives he quickly followed the man. When he escaped, Killer kicked at the ground, useless as it was.

"Shit…" he hissed.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thanks for reading!:)


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